


the taste that your lips allow

by ethereally (midnights)



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Happy, Kissing, Love, Pre-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 10:30:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3407336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnights/pseuds/ethereally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> Achilles laughs for much longer than I do. He laughs even as we kiss and kiss again. There is no better taste than laughter in the mouth. <i></i></i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	the taste that your lips allow

**Author's Note:**

> so this is my first achilles/patroclus fic, and i really had fun writing it ! i'll probably write more, most likely little things like this or a modern au. obviously credit where credit is largely due, to madeline miller
> 
> if you want to come and cry with me about tsoa, my tumblr is [here](http://harryindallas.tumblr.com/)
> 
> a big thank you to [sophie](http://xfactorera.tumblr.com/), my lovely beta, who helped me get through the initial shock of the ending of tsoa.
> 
> title is from ed sheeran's "give me love"
> 
> also a playlist to go with it (and to go with the rest of the book) can be found [here](http://8tracks.com/his-philtatos/rare-and-sweet-as-cherry-wine)
> 
> enjoy !!

"Come outside with me? It is a beautiful night."

I look up from Chiron's list of salves. Achilles is looking down at me, with a smile that, as small as it is, is as bright as the sun at midday. He knows I can never say no to that smile. So I put Chiron's list aside, standing. A hand takes mine, warm and large and rough from training, and guides me outside. The air is warm and damp, but not unpleasantly so.

Achilles wasn't lying- it is a beautiful night. The stars gleam like a million tiny lights over an inky black sky, and the sound of waves against rocks can be heard to our right. A beige cloak is spread over the grass, and there are two cups of wine and a bowl of figs waiting beside it.

"Something tells me this was planned." I smile, and Achilles laughs.

"It may have been, I'll admit." He nods, and we sit. "Do you- That does not mean you don't want to, does it?"

Now it is my turn to laugh. "Of course not. Now give me those figs."

I reach for the figs, but Achilles brushes my hand away. "Catch."

He tosses a fig towards me, in a perfect arch. I catch it in one hand, like one of the games we used to play. Bringing it to my lips, I take a bite, relishing in its grainy sweetness and downy skin. Achilles' lips come to meet mine just after I've swallowed, his tongue exploring my mouth and tasting the sweetness of the fig.

When we separate, Achilles lays on his side, his head resting on the heel of his hand, and I mimic him, laying so that our faces are just inches away from each other. One of his hands traces down my waist, which is bare, as I'd gotten too hot inside Chiron's cave and had tugged my tunic down to my hips. His hand comes to rest at the dip of my waist, large and warm and gentle.

He smiles at me, green eyes sparkling like the sea after one of Zeus' storms. "You are beautiful."

I look away, feeling my cheeks heat up. "Not like you, Achilles. Best of the Greeks, they say."

"You are right. Not like me. Much more beautiful. More beautiful than the evening star, than the sun as it sets." Achilles' hand finds its way into my hair, and then to my face.

"I am not." I shake my head, taking Achilles' wrist.

Achilles gives a lopsided smile. "Do you dare disagree with me?"

"I do." I nod, giggling.

"All would find cause to tremble after a disagreement with the best of the Greeks." Achilles says it mockingly, as if he feels he simply cannot be the best. He knows he is, though. All know.

I lift up one of my hands, glancing at it as if I'm examining it. "I do not find myself trembling."

Achilles takes my hand and examines it himself. "You do not think yourself as beautiful as me?"

"Not even close." I shake my head.

"No? So your fingers are not as beautiful as my own?" He asks, looking at me.

His gaze gives me shivers, sends my stomach swooping.

"No, I do not believe so." I say stubbornly

Achilles' lips press gentle kisses to my fingers, and each one sends shivers through my veins. Letting go of my hand, Achilles' fingers trace over my chest, which has grown broader in the past few months, as well as darker from the sun. I look down. His fingers are lithe and long, fingers I have watched dance over the strings of a lyre time and time again.

"Do you compare to me here?" He asks.

I shake my head again. "I do not."

"No? You do not think so?" He raises one perfect eyebrow.

"No."

Then, so quickly it knocks the breath from my chest, Achilles pushes me over and climbs on top of me. His knees rest on either side of my thighs, his hands braced on either side of my chest. Casually, as though the position doesn’t affect me, I put my arms under my head, and grass tickles my left elbow from where it’s fallen off of the cloak underneath us. That lopsided grin appears on Achilles’ face again, the one I had seen from across the table back in Phthia, the one I had grown to love dearly, among other things.

I reach for a fig, trying to seem as if Achilles’ attempted seduction is not affecting me. When I take a bite, the fruit brims with juices, and a drop runs down my face. Achilles’ thumb traces over the wet line the juice has left, and he raises his thumb to his lips and licks the sweet juice off. Then, his lips are on my chest, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses on my skin, which is damp with salty sweat. My breath hitches a bit, and I cough to cover it up.

Achilles rises only after he has left several red marks on my chest. He moves to my collarbone, the tan expanse of skin under my neck and on it. “And here? Do you compare to me here?”

“No, Achilles. I do not.”

“Still?” He asks, mouth leaving warm, wet kisses at the juncture of my neck and chest.

I shake my head, and my eyes close in pleasure for a moment. “No,” I say. “I will never compare to you.”

“Not even here?” Achilles moves down to my belly, kissing the soft, tanned skin. “This is my favorite part of your body, you know.”

“No. I did not know. And no, it does not compare to you.” I say, a smile creeping onto my lips.

"No? Still? Still you do not compare to me?" Achilles presses.

I shake my head once more. "Not a single hair of mine compares to yours, Achilles."

"Untrue." Achilles disagrees, a smile working its way onto his lips as well.

His lips trace over my jaw, and up to my lips. It was familiar now, the taste of his tongue and the pull of his lips on mine. Still, it feels like a miracle. Achilles' tongue is warm, and it tastes of figs and honeyed wine; I'd bet my mother's lyre that he snuck it from Chiron's stores. One of his hands moves up to mine, pulling it out from under me to pin it over my head. He does the same with my other hand, until both of my skinny wrists are held in the gentle grasp of his palm.

"What about here? Do you-" He kisses me again, soft and open-mouthed, "compare to me-" Another kiss, this time just my top lip. "here?"

"I don't." Another shake of my head.

Achilles' features are soft and delicate, fine as a girl's. His eyelashes touch his prominent cheekbones when he blinks, the curve of his lips appear as smooth as a finely carved bow. Mine are less beautiful, but not displeasing, I suppose, if the best of the Greeks thinks I am so beautiful. I am not sure that I believe him. His lips trace over mine, close enough to send shivers through my spine but not close enough to count as a kiss.

After a moment of his teasing, I surge forward, capturing his lips with mine. I can feel his smile grow before he opens his mouth, pushing his tongue against mine. We pull away only to breathe, to pull in heaving, hot breaths from each other’s mouths. As we go to kiss again, our foreheads smack together, and then we’re laughing, and my head is falling back as I hoot with laughter, my eyes closed and my hands falling to clutch my stomach.

Achilles laughs for much longer than I do. He laughs even as we kiss and kiss again. There is no better taste than laughter in the mouth.

“So you do not believe you are as beautiful as I, correct?” Achilles asks, yet again.

“You know I do not.” I roll my eyes.

Achilles gives me that beautiful lopsided smile. “Well, I do. In fact, I think you’re twice as beautiful. More, even. More beautiful than a sky lit with a thousand stars, than the early morning rays of sun, than the morning dew upon the fittest of all roses.”

I can feel my cheeks heating up. Achilles has always been better with words than I. “Stop that, none of this is true.”

“Oh, but it is. I could write epics on your eyes alone.” Achilles says softly, brushing a lock of hair from my eyes.

"It is more likely a single verse." I mutter.

"Would you have me compose it now?" Achilles raises an eyebrow.

“About plain brown eyes, you will write an epic?”

“Do you think I am lying?” He asks. When I do not answer, Achilles stands, putting one hand on his heart and casting the other towards me. "Eyes like copper against honey, like the deep brown of the winter trees at twilight, like the summer soil upon this very mount, like the darkest and ripest chestnut found only in the gardens of Demeter and Persephone. Like the-”

“Achilles! Do not continue, please. You embarrass me.” I cry, covering my face with my hands. A blush sears through my cheeks, so hot I feel they must be aflame. Achilles thinks I am beautiful.

Achilles laughs brightly, and his face is like the sun. Achilles’ laugh is something like starlight. It’s a sound I wait to hear all day, and would wait a thousand years just to hear once. When Achilles laughs, it’s as if the world grows a little warmer, like the sun glows a little brighter. His laugh alone could make flowers grow through snow, could make thunder and lightning fade into the distance and calm even the roughest of oceans.

“Patroclus,” He says.

I have always loved the way Achilles says my name. Pat-ro-clus. Pat-ro-clus, like it’s the name of a revered god, and not of a banished prince.

“Patroclus,” Achilles says again. “look at me.”

I shake my head in defiance, wrinkling my nose.

“Patroclus.”

He gets to his knees again, each one on either side of my hips. When he leans down, I can feel his breath on my lips. Gently, his hands pull mine from my face.

“Patroclus,” He sings. “Patroclus, open your eyes. I won’t kiss you unless you look.”

“And you think I cannot survive without the frequent kisses of Achilles?” I laugh, squeezing my eyes shut tight.

Achilles pauses. “Perhaps. But I cannot. Now open those beautiful eyes and let me kiss you.”

I laugh, opening my eyes. Achilles stares at me for a moment, his sea-green eyes on my chestnut-brown ones. We could’ve looked at each other for hours, or perhaps only minutes, but it does not matter. There’s nothing special about this moment, nothing earth-shattering or important. It’s such an ordinary moment, we’d shared many like it before.The only thing special about it is the feel of his gaze on mine, and the warmth of his smile as he looked down at me. This moment, when we’re happy, perhaps the happiest we’d ever be, is one I’d think back to in days of hardship and smile.

~

Thetis’ face is blank, empty of all emotion as if I have not just poured out every memory I have of Achilles into her hands.

She stares at the stone of our grave, unmoving. The sun is setting now, painting the last of its bright colors over the sea. Thetis is sat beside me, her face as perfect as the day I met her, arms crossed over her chest as if trying to hold herself together.

I have spared no moment of our privacy, no second of seclusion. I have given her every page of our story, right down to its end.

We watch the sun’s last rays dip under the horizon. We are all there, goddess and mortal and the boy who was both.

**Author's Note:**

> dont forget to leave comments and give kudos ! xx


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